


Why'd you only call me when you're high?

by TheLordOfJunk



Category: Eddsworld
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Guilt, The classic 'Tom thinks he killed Tord' with my own twist to it, lots of feelings and mild self-hatred
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-05
Updated: 2017-01-05
Packaged: 2018-09-14 22:11:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9205319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheLordOfJunk/pseuds/TheLordOfJunk
Summary: After The End, the trio goes through their own feelings at their own pace.Tom was angry, he was hurt, but in the end, he feels guilty.So, he drinks. He drinks and leaves voice mails to His old number.He doesn't know that he hears them all.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Heyy!
> 
> I'm new to the Eddsworld fandom, but I had the need to contribute somehow.  
> All grammatical mistakes/typos are my fault and I would appreciate if they were pointed out.  
> I'm planning on making more than one chapter with Tord actually in it. Tell me what you think!
> 
> Ps. This is based on Arctic Monkey's song "Why'd you only call me when I'm high", as the title suggests.

Out of all the feelings in the world, Tom had never imagined the most persistent one would have been the guilt. After the incident, all three remaining friends had gone through their own range of emotions. Edd went from lost to fatigued to mournful. Matt was afraid at first, quickly replaced by a period where he was mostly quiet. He came around though, nowadays just clearly hesitant to even think about the whole ordeal.

Tom, though. He had been angry. For a few weeks, he had snapped at the smallest of things. The others had been wary, but he never let himself pour it on them. He got drunk, more often than not, and broke things inside his room. He got himself into a few fights when he did go outside, coming back to lock himself away once more.

The anger smoothly mixed with a feeling of having been betrayed. He had never trusted their ‘old friend’ when he returned. That didn’t erase the fact that what had happened could be, by most human standards, be considered horrible. And Tom saw the effects it had on all of them. 

But, once he had no more energy to spend to keep up his mental hate speech about the metaphorical knife to their backs, his head was filled with the feeling of overwhelming guilt. It had chewed away at him for a long time now. Tord was gone because of him. Shot down and burned in his own creation. The more he had thought about it, the more he realized that he had, in a sense, betrayed him too. It wasn’t an enemy who shot him down, it was a person he had called a friend. Even if he tried to deny it, they had a past. A rocky one, but never to the degree of that day.

Tom cringed lightly and took a swig of the bottle resting against his clothed stomach. He was clearly way too sober. He was able to think, a thing he had grown to despise. Try as he might, he was afraid that thinking would lead to another shift in his emotions. And he was slowly getting used to the weight of the guilt. He was starting to accept it, turning it into a weapon against himself. If alcohol wouldn’t destroy his brain quick enough, he could do it himself by driving himself off the ‘mentally balanced’-ledge. Maybe apathy would eat the rest of him.

The bottle was raised back to his lips, a generous amount of the clear liquid ending up going down his throat. The feeling of burning had long since been eliminated: he was a master in his trade by now. But he still had a human body with limits, so it didn’t take long for the chemicals to start affecting him. Things became a tad more blurry, including his thinking, and he couldn’t remember if the bottle in his hand was his first or his second. It was quickly deduced as his second, however, when his vision swam when he turned his head to glance at the clock on his nightstand. Tom had to focus for a moment before he could see that the digits read 2:11 at night.

Groaning, the man pushed himself down to lay on his side. The movement was slightly awkward and his drink sloshed in its container. He squeezed his eyes shut as his mind was once again invaded by the thoughts of why it all was like this.

“S’pid commie…” Tom slurred to nobody in particular, angrily taking a swig of his drink, getting more of it on himself than into his mouth. The man continued to haunt him, after all this time. And it was still his fault. The reoccurring train of thought made him short circuit. He grit his teeth against the wave of nausea. Tom had only today caught Edd looking at pictures of…of Tord. He had looked remorseful, and Tom hated the thought that he was at least partly to blame for that. No matter how much he wanted to hate him for what He did, he couldn’t help but imagine that it all could have been avoided.

Maybe if he had been a better friend.

The stupid sob escaped him before he could stop it and he hit the bed with his free hand in response. The impact wasn’t hard, he wasn’t in complete control of his body. His hand reached to the other end of the bed until his fingers wrapped around his phone. Pulling it to his face, his eyes squinted at the bright screen. He typed his password wrong, multiple times, until it unlocked. Navigating shaky fingers through his contacts, he scrolled until he saw the familiar name pop up. His hazy mind didn’t falter as he pressed the call button.

It had been like this for a while now. Tom would get completely wasted and call the old number. He wasn’t stupid enough to think there would be an answer, but he still did it. Maybe the guilt drove him into it, maybe it was just the alcohol, maybe he just needed to talk. So, when the familiar dialogue about leaving a message played and the beep echoed, Tom opened his mouth.

“H-Heeyy aga’n.” Tom slurred before coughing, voice rough from disuse.

“’m just callin’ again ‘cause I’m really, really drunk.” He laughed at himself, chugging some of his vodka. The man curled up slightly, stomach starting to protest the amount of poison being fed into it.

“Edd says ‘hat I should…slow down with, ya know, the whole alcohol…ordeal.” Never in his life had it been harder to form sentences, or so it felt. Most likely it was as hard every single time.

“M-Matt agreed ‘n said that ‘m givin’ his mirrors bad karma.” Tom laughed and took a drink. He paused for a long moment and his tone shifted.

“You should’ve hit m’ harder. Y’know, back then.” The words were flatter and more rough, his brain’s ability to filter his words finally faltering to non-existence. 

“M’be Matt would’ve shone one of those mirrors at you and you- you’d crashed yourself.” Tom laughed. The laugh turned into a giggle, the giggle turned into a sob. And the sob turned into multiple consecutive ones.

“’m sorry.” The words bubbled from his lips before he even registered them, causing him to wheeze and curl more into himself. “’m sorry.” He repeated, no longer sure if he was saying sorry for his constant calling, the incident or just simply everything.

 

“Classic, stupid Tom.” Tom whispered to himself after a while, uttering the words at his own pathetic excuse of a being. It was ironic, using the phrase like this, but it made himself feel a smidge better. He could imagine Tord finding out about him mourning and apologizing to the man that shared his mutual hatred. He would surely say the same words and poke fun at him for being a drunk, unintelligent idiot.

Tom’s handle on time vanished quickly after that, his mind and body starting to shut down at the same time. His lids felt heavy as his still watery breathing slowed down. He didn’t hear the phone beep softly as the voicemail ended.


End file.
